As this little red bombshell number calls to mind a woman in pearls vacuuming with one hand while preparing her husband's martini in the other, it's right up my alley. My personal fashion sense has been dubbed '50s housewife. Though it would be inaccurate to imply that any housewife worth her oven mitts would associate with the likes of me or my dust bunnies. But I hear Marilyn wasn't too popular with the suburban Mah Jong set either.

If I had my way, I would be swimming through Audrey Hepburn's closet. Since my way tends to defy the laws of the time space continuum, instead I visit La Rosa on Haight Street (scene of several budget crimes) and scour posh girl vintage while breathing heavily on the computer screen.